


Heat and Patience

by VulpusTumultum



Series: Tumblr Promptfics [19]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Askbox Fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frustration, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Promises, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 09:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4516446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulpusTumultum/pseuds/VulpusTumultum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><a href="http://vulpustumultum.tumblr.com/post/125963125597/flowers-and-prompts">From a flower language list prompt</a>- Thistle (misanthropy) and witch hazel (a spell), Lyos x Dorian.</p><p>Have some post-ARGHFREAKINGORLESIANNOBLESFUCKORLAIS-Haramshiral Lyos and a Dorian trying to relax him and help him regain his Inquisitorial fucks after a night dealing with Orlesian scheming and insults.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat and Patience

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spyderqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyderqueen/gifts).



Lyos seriously contemplated scaling the balcony he was leaning over and just _completely_ vanishing, from the remaining hours of the ball, from Orlais, from maybe even the Inquisition, since really there was such a thing as having had to deal with too many human messes.

It wasn't that he had been shocked by what was going on, although reading about certain behavior, or hearing about it from his father on occasion was certainly different than dealing with it- and his father hadn't dealt with actual _nobles_. His time in Orlais was fairly firmly set amongst the upper-middle tier of tradesmen and artisans, with nobles only appearing as customers at the shop he worked in.

And his father hadn't also been raised Dalish. Not that it hadn't grated on Vallasen when he'd lived in Orlais to hear old elven words in one breath and knife-ear the other, but-

Well at least all the use of real knives and blades, and playing along as best he had meant _he_ wasn't getting called that any more tonight to his face, or by any noble later down the road who could recognize him as Inquisitor. Just likely still behind his back, and of course, any other elf that had to interact with them.

He'd found himself thinking a little too often by the end of the night that chaos might be exactly what these idiots needed, or that he'd been a little to quick to stop the whole 'demon army' thing.

And then of course there was the knowledge that many elves would look at him exactly as Briala had for their first little chat- an elf who'd found some magical way of sucking up to shemlen and who was playing at being one.

 _No,_ he thought with a bitter amusement, _the magical way found_ me _. And I know perfectly well how the minute they can, the large majority of shemlen will turn on me at any sign of too-much-elfyness. I'll be written right out of history someday by the Chantry and the Orlesian historians very likely, remembered as a joke if anything. Not sure who they'll choose to take my place out of the Inquisition- all things considered. Maybe they'll make someone up._

His jaw clenched slightly and shoulders tightened as he heard the door behind him open and close, a rush of the noise from the ballroom before it softened again to the quieter murmur. Still far too loud.

“Well, a hero of Orlais, at least, of course, to those who actually support the Empress, and others will at least pretend. Congratulations.” Dorian, but for once his words just made Lyos' jaw tighten a little more. Agreement, certainly, but not amused agreement.

There was a pause, “Feeling less than victorious, I take it.” Dorian didn't come overly close, but leaned over the balustrade as well, looking forward and only a bit at Lyos.

“Feeling entirely tired of shemlen bullshit,” Lyos said bluntly. “If it wouldn't mean as much a death and end for my people- I'd just as soon every human empire fall apart. The minute you're any bigger than the average Marcher state, the rot's too far gone to ever be stopped or fixed, not that they're really much better. And that includes the blighted Chantries as well.”

Silence stretched, and the elf's shoulder muscles tightened further under the soft, rich fabrics of his clothing, wondering if his lover was going to start into some _defense_. But Dorian had at least changed to where he knew when a tone or mood made it better to simply listen, even if he winced slightly.

Slowly, Lyos relaxed a little again, sighing, and then moved a little closer, putting an arm around Dorian and pulling him in. “Don't even bring up 'what if we're seen' as a joke,” he warned quietly.

“Wouldn't dream of it, especially as our Sister Nightengale happens to be standing in front of the balcony doors, idly chatting with others and blocking the view as well as path, rendering it a complete non-issue.”

“Alright, some of you are at the least _useful_ -” Lyos made a soft sound as a hand on his shoulder warmed, Dorian moving behind him, and then he yelped slightly as fingers found the worst knot, the fire magic and pressure making it very easily through the fabric of his clothing.

“And some are very useful,” he said, leaning into the touch and then just against Dorian as muscle aches lessened to where they were adding less onto his irritation.

“I promise I will be even _more_ useful later, Inquisitor.”

The mage's tone made the shem title rather unobjectionable, even after the night that he'd so far had, and Lyos simply nodded and reached back to slide fingers along the lines of Dorian's jaw and up into his hair.


End file.
